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Ripples/Chapter Four
Chapter Four: [[User:Rainsplash987|'Rainy']] Morning already? ''Stormfleet thought to himself. Sure enough, it was lightening outside, the sky a myriad of dawn colors. Judging by how far the sun had risen, he guessed the dawn patrol had just left. Which was fine with him, as long as he wasn't on it. Padding outside, he saw that most of the apprentices were still asleep, snoring and twitching. Probably lost in their imaginings of the Others, he thought with a pang of ruefulness. As he turned around, he slammed into another cat and went stumbling backwards. "Oh sorry," he muttered hastily, noticing with a sinking feeling that it was Pikefrost he had disturbed, a tom named for his narrow face- and, Stormfleet often speculated to himself, the constant fishiness his presence always provoked. There was nothing right about the guy, from his continously shifting eyes to his annoyingly twitchy tail. "Excuse you," Pikefrost muttered coldly, brushing past him. To himself, Stormfleet muttered, "It's no big deal. Sheesh." "Don't expect Pikefrost to ever believe it was just an accident," purred Tawnyclaw, a pretty she-cat. "You'll never convince him that you weren't trying to kill him." Whiskers twitching, Stormfleet nodded. "You're probably right." An awkward silence followed, and he felt compelled to break the ice. "So, heard anything new lately?" Tawnyclaw glanced around the mostly quiet camp and shrugged. "Not much. The apprentices got scolded for playing a game about the Others, I heard." "They certainly seem to be infatuated with the idea of the Others," he said, not exactly understanding why. "I guess it's interesting to them." Obviously ready for a change of subject once again, Tawnyclaw pricked her ears. "I think I hear the dawn patrol coming in." Both of them turned towards the entrance, where Thornheart, ShadowClan's deputy, was leading the patrol inside. Stormfleet was pleasantly surprised to see a ridiculously fat rabbit among the catch, and he trotted over to um, investigate the food further. Because it sure smelled good. "That's a fair-sized amount of fresh-kill," he commented to no one in particular. Most of the cats ignored him, like usual, but one of the younger warriors, Owlgaze, glanced up and nodded. "I know, right? And you'll never believe who caught them." He nodded towards one of the apprentices, Duskpaw, who puffed out his chest in response. Though he didn't want to offend the tom, Stormfleet couldn't help being surprised. "Really?" "Yeah! It was really easy!" There was a mischevious twinkle in Duskpaw's eyes that made Stormfleet the slightest bit suspicious. Instead of going with a rabbit, he picked a vole instead, though he didn't really know why. Maybe the queens and elders would want the rabbits? The camp had begun to come to life now, and cats were gathering in groups to gossip over breakfast, or just to hang out a little. Stormfleet took his vole to a more secluded corner to eat, his antisocial tendencies taking over. It wasn't that he particularly disliked the cats in his Clan - with the obvious exception of Pikefrost. It was just that, well, it was the way he was built. That was the only explanation he could come up with. Nearby, a couple of the apprentices were wrestling and chasing each other around. Owlgaze sat with a couple of other young warriors; he was sharing the large rabbit with one of them. The queens watched their kits, and the elders sat outside to watch over the Clan and groom each other. If you stepped back and looked at the scene from a distance, Stormfleet reflected, there was no telling that anything was wrong. It was just as if there wasn't a giant, six-legged, two-tailed shadow covering the camp. Oh, it wasn't like they couldn't ever relax, but there was never ''total peace. In everyone's hearts, the knowledge of the Others and what they could do was imprinted forever. Stormfleet sometimes wondered if they could ever rid themselves of it if they wanted to- which would be a foolish want anyway. Fear was sometimes good. Fear kept you sharp. Fear kept you alive. - - - - Early afternoon found Stormfleet feeling like the laziest cat alive. Hours had passed since morning and he'd done absolutely nothing. Getting up, he trotted over to Thornheart. "Can I go on the evening patrol?" he asked the deputy. "Sure," Thornheart answered, seeming a little surprised at the request. "I mean, I won't try to stop you." "Thanks," he said with a light chuckle. Ducking into the warriors' den, he instantly stopped. The air smelled rank and putrid, with a bitter underlaying scent that made his gag reflex activate. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw that the den was mostly empty, except for two cats sprawled out in their nests. The two cats he'd seen earlier, sharing the rabbit. Something was wrong. Their flanks shone with sweat, and a phlegmy spit-up soiled the floor between their nests. Feeling his stomach lurch, Stormfleet knew this was no ordinary sickness. "Owlgaze? Mousetalon?" The only reply came as Mousetalon's body seemed to seize in on itself. The pale gray tom made a choking noise, coughing and spluttering. That was all he needed to see. Backing out of the den, he raced for the medicine cat, hollering his head off. - - - - Murmurs filled the camp as cats gathered outside the medicine cat's den, anxious to find out what had happened. Faces were somber now, drawn with worry. If he had to guess what was on each of his Clanmates' minds(besides, of course, the fact that two of their warriors were terribly sick and suffering) Stormfleet guessed it would be the same was what he was thinking: Sometimes we get so focused with the threat the Others pose that we forget about the daily dangers of the Clan. "Duskpaw," Thornheart was saying nearby. "Where did you get that rabbit you brought in? This is really important." Wide-eyed, the apprentice stammered, "B-by Twolegplace. I didn't cross the border, I swear." "Twolegs," Thornheart hissed. Tawnyclaw glanced up worriedly. "Are you sure?" "Who else?" he snapped. Stormfleet entered the conversation rather timidly. "But why?" No one had any answer to that, of course. One could ask that question about everything Twolegs did. A wave of chatter heralded the arrival of their medicine cat, Dawnpelt. Her eyes were weary hollows, and her voice was bleak as she said, "Owlgaze and Mousetalon are dead." Time froze over the camp, everyone going absolutely still. The silence was finally broken by a loud sob from Duskpaw, who looked completely guilt-ridden. Stormfleet felt awful, but no amount of sorriness would bring the two warriors back. And this is why we can't live our lives constantly obsessed with the Others, apprentices, Stormfleet thought to himself. Because then other dangers sneak up behind us. Like this.